Post by James Hudson on Nov 10, 2013 14:14:12 GMT -5
Admin's note: This fanfic is the intellectual property of Matthew Manni, who graciously allowed me to repost it on this forum. Thanks again, Matt!.
Author’s note: This story takes place after “Attack on Cylon outpost #4” and prior to the Earth 2010 storyline.
Bill Adama and Saul Tigh sat in Adama’s private quarters sipping rare Libran brandy; both men were off duty, and were relaxing with conversation as the ship remained under the command of the very capable JOOD; Captain Aaron Kelly.
“Hell of a job on the new Raptor, eh Bill?” asked Tigh as he downed his brandy. Adama was leaning back in his chair as if in contemplative thought, hands together at the fingertips.
“Lensherr and the chief really came through; they adapted, improvised, and overcame almost every obstacle put before them in constructing a raptor from scratch. I can foresee big things for Matt Lensherr.” Replied Adama.
“Doesn’t he remind you of someone we both knew?” said Tigh.
“Who?”
“Culverhouse!” replied Saul helping himself to the bottle of brandy. He was referring to Rear Admiral Mack Culverhouse, the former commanding officer of the Battlestar Pacifica of Battlestar Group 66 that both men knew very well.
“Mack Culverhouse…” said Adama leaning back and closing his eyes remembering their old comrade.
The years came back to Bill Adama like a tidal wave. Mack Culverhouse was the type of Colonial officer in general, Battlestar commander in particular; that he thought most officers should emulate. One memory was quite vivid.
Battlestar Pacifica: Rear Admiral Mack Culverhouse commanding.
Battlestar group 66 was in the final leg of their long patrol, and Admiral Mack Culverhouse looked forward to returning to Gemenon for shore leave. He had been separated from Katie for too long. Mack Culverhouse was a rising star in the Colonial Military, he was the youngest officer ever to assume the rank of rear admiral, and he could hardly ask for a better assignment, Pacifica was a well decorated Battlestar, and usually within the top five choices for duty assignments. His executive officer Colonel T. Morlock would be taking a transport to his home colony of Canceria upon their arrival at the Gemenon air base.
“Colonel Morlock, have you had the opportunity to see to those details regarding Colonel Adama’s send off?” asked Culverhouse discreetly. He was talking about the small gathering of senior officers that were planning to meet later that evening to give Colonel Bill Adama a send off party to celebrate his impending promotion to Commander, and subsequent transfer to his new command; the Battlestar Valkyrie.
“Affirmative sir, all victuals have been prepared and the officer’s quarters have been secured. The room has been locked down for “maintenance purposes” until further notice, Husker shouldn’t suspect a thing.” Said Morlock. His attention to detail, and planning such events were legendary in his Battle group, and Culverhouse recognized that T. Morlock’s career would be stellar.
“Where is our Caprican pretty boy now?” joked Culverhouse.
“You assigned him to inspect launch bay Alpha, he should have his hands full for the next few hours.” The communications officer, who now stood at the command chair, interrupted the men, clipboard in hand.
“Admiral, we’re receiving a distress call on a civilian channel that we normally monitor. The shipping freighter Pulsar enroute to Ragnar Anchorage reports they are being attacked by pirates, possibly from Sagittaron.”
“Damned Sagittarons,” muttered an irritated Culverhouse. “How far off are we?” The Sagittaron people endured centuries of exploitation at the hands of the other Colonies, leading to the colony becoming one of the poorest planets. Piracy and terrorism was not unheard of, and most professional military personnel came to despise them and their tactics.
“We’re at least an hour from their location.” Replied the tactical officer, now turning towards Culverhouse.
“XO, launch Gamma squadron to intercept; I want that freighter protected, and confirmation as to who the aggressors are. I want to make sure that its pirates and not Cylons we’re dealing with.”
“Aye, aye sir.” Within minutes, ten gleaming Mk. IV vipers and their assigned raptor from Gamma squadron hurtled through space to intercept the civilian freighter in distress. At the first soundings of action stations, Colonel Bill Adama raced for the CIC.
In minutes, he was at Culverhouse’s side at the plotting table. “What do we have, Admiral?”
“Nothing major Bill, we’re getting a distress call from civilian freighter claiming to be under attack by pirates from Sagittaron it would seem. Gamma squadron is on an intercept course.”
The tactical officer looked perplexed; she was doing a long-range scan of Pulsar’s last location. The Dradis positively identified the Pulsar, and surprisingly another ship with Colonial Military transponders. “Admiral, I’m picking up the pirate’s transponder…war book positively identifies the ship as the Spawn.”
“The Spawn?” repeated Culverhouse. “What the hell is an old Fightingstar doing attacking another Colonial vessel?” The Fightingstar was a small style warship that once numbered in the hundreds in the Colonial military, smaller than a Destroyer and moderately armed. They were phased out of active duty two decades before, most were scrapped, and some were sold to private owners over the objections of most senior military command staff. Those sold to non-military buyers were stripped of their offensive weaponry prior to taking possession. Apparently, this Fightingstar was rearmed and now wreaking havoc on civilian ships.
“Communications…instruct Gamma leader that I want a complete sitrep as soon as he’s on scene!” demanded Culverhouse. He deplored the thought of military vessels being sold to private ownerships whether obsolete or not. He thought they should have been scrapped entirely, but political interference trumped the concerns of the Admiralty.
Gamma squadron arrived on scene to find the Fightingstar pulled up alongside an obviously damaged freighter that was listing to one side. Gamma leader opened up an unsecured civilian frequency and broadcasted a hostile challenge to the Spawn. The response was a blistering barrage of triple-A cannon fire that destroyed two unsuspecting vipers.
“Krypter, Krypter, Krypter…Fightingstar has opened fire on us, Gamma two and six have been taken out.” Said Gamma’s squadron leader over the secured military frequency. The aging Fightingstar catches the Colonial military unprepared, and the vipers return fire.
Culverhouse is outraged, the concerns he voiced along with other senior officers many years ago now came to fruition. A well-armed warship was now in the hands of pirates, and now two of his pilots and a civilian freighter were paying a price for it.
“Helm, bring us around on course 224.6, increase speed to flank. Launch remaining squadrons immediately.” The Pacifica lurched forward as it traveled on an intercept course for their rogue Fightingstar.
The pirate in command of the Fightingstar knew he was in trouble, while he knew his ship was capable of holding off the vipers, a full Battlestar was an entirely different matter, and one very large one was bearing down on his location at flank speed. The Spawn pulled away from the freighter under full power, and put some distance between the two ships. The vipers swarmed all over the ship attempting to take out the ships offensive batteries.
Bill Adama and Culverhouse were long time friends, and Adama knew that Culverhouse had an intense hatred of pirates. They had gone too long without a serious challenge to their lawlessness. Culverhouse had long advocated using the military to hunt them down and safeguard the shipping lanes between colonies. The use of military intervention was always struck down, much to the thanks of political interference. Culverhouse had landed himself in hot water when he speculated loudly if certain politicians were financially benefiting from protecting the pirates from the wrath of the military.
The Pacifica was coming into effective firing range, and Culverhouse instructed his communications officer to signal the Spawn to ‘stand down and prepare to be boarded.’
The response was not what anyone expected; the Fightingstar opened fire on the crippled freighter with its main guns. The freighter exploded violently, 200 souls perished in a matter of seconds.
“Fraking savages.” said Culverhouse through clenched teeth. Executive officer Morlock was quickly at his side. Everyone in the CIC was shocked at the destruction of the civilian ship.
“Should I target their engines, Admiral?” inquired the reserved Morlock.
“Negative XO…it’s well past time to deal with these fraking lowlifes as they should have been treated a long time ago.” Replied Culverhouse. “Weapons…ship to ship missile.” Adama was quickly at his side, he leaned in close so that only the Admiral could hear him.
“Mack? What are you doing, aren’t you going to take them into custody?”
“That ship has sailed, Bill. I warned them what would happen if they continued to sell off excess military surplus, they did not listen! Those lowlife, bottom-feeding politicians made sure that their bribe-paying supporters were kept happy.”
“That’s quite the indictment, Mack. Think about this.”
“I’ve already considered it, Colonel. Let this be the signal to the pirates that their days are numbered.” Culverhouse turned towards the weapons officer and nodded. Two ship-to-ship missiles streaked from the bow tubes and hurtled towards the Spawn. Vipers cleared the immediate vicinity around the fleeing Fightingstar; the missiles struck their target with extreme prejudice. The ship exploded; to the mind of Admiral Mack Culverhouse, justice had been served.
Battlestar Galactica – present day.
Lieutenant Tari Adama reached for the handle and turned the water off; stepping from the narrow stall, she emerged from the showers feeling refreshed. Her lean body glistened in the harsh lighting of the pilot’s latrine. While not bulky, she possessed excellent muscle tone. Prior to the encounter with the Eastern Alliance, she had worked out extensively with Major Nina Nintius, and was becoming quite proficient at hand-to-hand combat. Since her injuries, Nintius, on Doc Cottle’s orders had severely curtailed her own regiment, and Tari found herself working out with Starbuck. Tari found the two women very much alike, and respected both of them very much.
She pulled a comb through her hair and started to put on her uniform when Mark Sarnex walked in. She stood there in her uniform and bra, a lace one that Mark found very appealing to look at. She pulled on her blouse and buttoned up. “Something I can do for you, Nightstalker? Or were you just going to stand there staring?”
“Well if you don’t mind I’d like to stand here staring, you’ve got a hell of a fraking body!” quipped Sarnex with his trademark felgercarb-eating grin. “However; I’m passing along a message…your presence is required in the old man’s quarters post fraking haste.”
“Since when are you my father’s errand boy?”
“The Admiral called down to the pilot’s lounge looking for you, I answered the line and volunteered to pass you the message.”
“Why?”
“I knew you were in the showers!” he replied bluntly.
“Gods you’re worse than Lancelot and Ghostrider put together. I should frak you just out of sympathy and get you out of my hair.”
“That sounds good to me.” Ares just sighed, gathered her things and exited the latrine. She would drop off her toiletries on her bunk and head to her father’s quarters. She wondered what he could possibly want. The trip from the bottom half of Galactica where the pilot’s quarters were to the upper section where Adama’s quarters were located took roughly 25 minutes. The Marine guard at the hatch opened the door for her and Tari stepped in.
“Good morning Tari.”
“Mother? What are you doing here, where’s dad?” asked Tari.
“He’s on his way; I thought the three of us having breakfast would be nice.” Replied President Laura Roselin.
“Breakfast?” Tari was confused, something was not right here. Within minutes, Admiral Bill Adama walked in, followed by an ensign pushing a cart loaded with covered plates that contained breakfast. Tari was sure that whatever was under those covers most likely would not find itself in the mess hall for the crew.
Fraking hierarchy! She though to herself. She was not surprised though, this was the President of the Colonies, and the Admiral, and it was doubtful they would be eating algae-based foods. A few months back they had come across a small planet with extremely harsh environment, but there was animal life there, and the Admiral ordered a “hunting party.” The take was excellent, and the meats spread fairly throughout the fleet. While nobody would be eating 11 oz. steaks, they would however; have some protein to go along with noodles and other rationed foodstuffs.
“Well I see with rank comes its privileges.” Said Tari sarcastically, she sat down at the table and reached for a coffee cup. Laura shot Adama a sideways glance who merely smiled.
“Your mother and I felt that it has been a long time since we’ve had a chance to have a family chat.”
“Aren’t we missing Mr. Personality?” She said referring to her half brother Lee.
“Lee is otherwise engaged, this morning is just the three of us, Tari.” Replied Adama.
“Tari, your father filled me in on your performance during the Cylon Outpost operation, from the sounds of it you were instrumental in its success.”
“Well I am a great stick, Apollo should watch his ass, and I might edge him out for CAG one day.”
“Tari, your humility is breathtaking.” Quipped Adama. “However, you were not invited here to discuss who the superior pilot is, though I’m sure Lee would have his own opinion on that subject.”
“Oh of that I’m sure!”
“Tari, as your father I am very proud of the woman you’ve turned out to be. As your commander I am especially proud of the officer and pilot you have become, and after reading Lee’s after-action report on your performance at the outpost I have decided to promote you to full Lieutenant, and present you with a distinction cluster.” A ‘distinction cluster’ was awarded to members of the Colonial armed forces who performed above and beyond the call of duty while in combat. Tari was speechless. The promotion was well overdue as far as she was concerned, but what was that he said about Lee’s after-action report.
Laura slid her chair over next to her daughter and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Tari I am so proud of you, as is your father. The promotion and award is well deserved.” Said Laura. The President had been spending more time aboard Galactica of late Tari had noticed, she was not sure how she felt about that. Laura slid a small box across the table towards her daughter, Tari opened it and a shiny gold "Distinction Cluster" was within it.
“Lee actually had something positive to say about me?” asked Tari incredulously.
“Tari, Lee informs me that you are a brash pilot in danger of fast following in the footsteps of Starbuck, but he also states that you are an exceptional pilot with great potential. Maybe you might consider cutting him some slack; your brother isn’t a bad guy once you get to know him.” Said Adama.
“I know that dad, perhaps he would come across better if he removed that stick from his ass every once in awhile.” Replied Tari. Laura choked on a piece of her breakfast at those words. “Sorry mother, I know Lee is a good man. I just don’t know why he never cuts me any slack.”
“Maybe he would if you stopped and gave him a chance. He has his hands full with Kara Thrace, he doesn’t need another one.” Tari knew to let the conversation drop here, Adama was her father, but he was also Lee’s and that would obviously make him sensitive to any criticism of his only son. The breakfast would last another half hour, and she would have to return to her duties. Adama had asked her squadron leader to grant her an hour off from her morning duties, and now her time was almost up. Newly promoted to full lieutenant, Tari kissed both her parents goodbye and left to start her day.
Upon arriving in hanger bay Alpha, Tari was surprised to find the entire Red Aces squadron present. They gave her a round of applause, Peacemaker and Apollo approached her, and Lee removed her Jr. Lieutenant rank from her collar. Jon Horlach pinned on her new rank. Lee came to full attention and saluted her. She returned the gesture.
“Congratulations Tari…this was well deserved. Said Lee smiling.
Battlestar Pacifica - Two days before the Cylon attack on the Colonies.
Admiral Culverhouse walked into the CIC and promptly met by his executive officer Colonel Morlock. The look on his face tipped off the Admiral that the news would not be good. “Out with it XO…what have we got?”
“Tactical reports a glitch in the weapons system, he was running his weekly systems check when he found it. The component controlling the computerized targeting system for all primary guns institutes a weapons lockout when we instruct the computer to take target bearings.”
“That’s not good XO. Then again I never did like leaving a mass of wires and computer chips to take determine a firing solution so maybe this is a blessing in disguise.” Replied Culverhouse sarcastically.
“You sound like Bill Adama with his aversion to networked systems.” Said Morlock.
“Billy Adama sits at the helm of our oldest Battlestar, after the Valkyrie fiasco I’m surprised they even gave him the ‘bucket.’ Look, we need that system flaw fixed post fraking haste, what are we looking at for downtime, and will it require a shipyard?” Mack Culverhouse wanted to avoid sidelining a Battlestar from patrol and end up sitting on his ass in a shipyard with nothing to do but the paperwork.” The nearest shipyard was the Scorpion fleet shipyards, which was six days away at top speed. An FTL jump was out of the question if there were a systems glitch, he would not take the chance that the deficiency was isolated to the weapons system.
“Colonel Morlock, I want the network taken down until Tactical isolates the source of the system flaw. I do not want whatever the hell is happening to start jumping to other systems such as life support or propulsion.” Ordered the Admiral who turned and soon left to retire to his quarters, he was starting to get a headache; this day was off to a bad start. The executive officer immediately instructed Pacifica’s central computerized network taken offline.
Battlestar Galactica – Present Day
Margaret Edmondson was finally cleared to resume her duties; Major Lee Adama sat at his desk and affixed his signature as CAG to the orders reinstating her to full flight status. “It’s good to have you back with us, Racetrack.” Said Lee replacing the cap on his pen.
“Good to be back, sir.” Said a smiling Edmondson. Her ordeal at the hands of the Eastern Alliance those months ago was one of the worst most of the older officers aboard Galactica had ever seen in their long careers. To her credit though, she never revealed anything. She meets with a therapist weekly, and the nightmares and aversion to physical contact as lessened significantly. She had a long road ahead of her though. She signed off on the appropriate paperwork and headed down to the hanger bay housing the Raptor squadrons. Upon entering the hanger, she immediately walked over to Major Nina Nintius who was doing a preflight on Raptor 1.
“Hello Margaret, finally cleared for duty I’ve been so advised.” Said Nintius, looking up from her clipboard.
“Yeah, I really need to get back in the saddle. How do you like your new Raptor?”
“Ahh, if it was only my own personal Raptor,” mused Nintius. “If it was, you could bet your ass I would have a much better fraking color scheme.” Laughed Nina. The Raptor’s dradis-absorbing composite fuselage was flat black. It was a true stealth craft. Nina leaned back towards her ECO, Lieutenant Hamish "Skulls" McCall. “Skully, would you mind switching off with racetrack? Take the morning off.” Said Nina, more statement than question.
“No problem Betty, welcome back Racetrack.” Replied McCall.
“Get your stuff together Margaret, we’re skids up in one hour.” Said Nintius resuming her preflight check.
Admiral Adama stood at the plotting table, coffee in hand. His luck seemed to have been holding, no major problems with the civilian ships, and morale amongst the population was in good spirits considering their lot. He made it a point to closely investigate every planet with life-sustaining atmosphere they encountered. The “hunt” on the last planet yielded an amazing amount of meat, and he chuckled to himself at the thought that there was a good chance people would not have eaten that meat had they saw the grotesque appearance of the animal that provided it. Noodles and algae-based foodstuffs were in copious amounts in the fleet, one of the civilian freighters was carrying a complete load of noodles and freeze-dried algae bars to one of the prison outposts on Aerelon when the Cylons attacked.
“Good morning Admiral!” came the voice of Captain Kara Thrace.
“Starbuck…what do you hear?”
“Nothing but the rain, sir.” Replied Starbuck to their inside joke.
“What brings you to the CIC, Kara?” asked Adama taking off his glasses.
“I had some avionics questions for Dee, I’m out of my depth on a project I’m working on and could use some advice.”
“Well she’s not on duty for another hour, I’ll tell her to get in contact with you.” Their attention was diverted to the telltale audible warning of a DRADIS contact. Lt. Antonio Digit was the tactical officer on duty, and he immediately started a trace.
“Dradis contact…long range, 172 carom 980. Very faint Admiral.”
“Set condition two throughout the fleet, signal the CAP and have them intercept and identify. Have the alert vipers standing by to launch.” Ordered Adama, who was now turning to Starbuck. “I believe you’ll be needed down in the flight pods, Captain.” Starbuck briskly walked out of CIC and headed to the flight pod where Blue squadron was assigned.
The Combat Air Patrol assigned that morning was Roadkill and Wizard, after receiving their orders the both took an intercept course for the Dradis contact that was yet on their own less-powerful Dradis. Lieutenants Booster Antilles and Dave Wright were assigned to Red Aces squadron and were good friends. They drew this morning’s CAP and now they were pushing their aging Mk. II Vipers to the unknown contact on full thrusters.
Raptor 1 was now materializing of their port side; Betty had jumped her Raptor in order to catch up with them.
“Wizard – Betty, I’m picking up your contact, unable to identify, I’m picking up heavy distortion and jamming that appears to cycle from frequency to frequency, I can’t punch through it.”
“Not the actions of someone with friendly intentions.” Said Roadkill. The hair on the back of his neck started to bristle, not a good sign. Dave Wright always paid heed to the bristling; it was like an early warning system. “I’m not getting a good vibe here, people.”
Racetrack was doing her best to sort through the electronic clutter that was being tossed their way; she was an excellent ECO whose nearest equal was Karl “Helo” Agathon. “Betty I’m making some headway, the contact is big, possibly a Basestar.”
The screen lit up, smaller contacts emerged from the main contact. “Multiple contacts heading our way, I guess there is no doubt no that they’re Cylons.”
“Galactica – Raptor 1…multiple contacts from the original contact is heading our way at high speed, launch the alert fighters!”
Admiral Adama nodded towards the Tactical officer and Lt. Digit keyed his lip microphone. “Action stations…action stations set condition 1 throughout the fleet, inbound unidentified space craft.” The alert vipers immediately launched, and the remaining three viper squadrons were being loaded into the tubes awaiting their pilots.
“Lieutenant Digit, order the fleet to jump to emergency coordinates.” Said Adama now at his side. One by one, Galactica’s viper compliment hurtled into space to intercept the incoming spacecraft bearing down on them. The CAP was two minutes from contact, and Raptor 1 prepared to deploy its new weapons system.
Author’s note: This story takes place after “Attack on Cylon outpost #4” and prior to the Earth 2010 storyline.
The Lost Warriors
Scene 1.
Bill Adama and Saul Tigh sat in Adama’s private quarters sipping rare Libran brandy; both men were off duty, and were relaxing with conversation as the ship remained under the command of the very capable JOOD; Captain Aaron Kelly.
“Hell of a job on the new Raptor, eh Bill?” asked Tigh as he downed his brandy. Adama was leaning back in his chair as if in contemplative thought, hands together at the fingertips.
“Lensherr and the chief really came through; they adapted, improvised, and overcame almost every obstacle put before them in constructing a raptor from scratch. I can foresee big things for Matt Lensherr.” Replied Adama.
“Doesn’t he remind you of someone we both knew?” said Tigh.
“Who?”
“Culverhouse!” replied Saul helping himself to the bottle of brandy. He was referring to Rear Admiral Mack Culverhouse, the former commanding officer of the Battlestar Pacifica of Battlestar Group 66 that both men knew very well.
“Mack Culverhouse…” said Adama leaning back and closing his eyes remembering their old comrade.
The years came back to Bill Adama like a tidal wave. Mack Culverhouse was the type of Colonial officer in general, Battlestar commander in particular; that he thought most officers should emulate. One memory was quite vivid.
Battlestar Pacifica: Rear Admiral Mack Culverhouse commanding.
Battlestar group 66 was in the final leg of their long patrol, and Admiral Mack Culverhouse looked forward to returning to Gemenon for shore leave. He had been separated from Katie for too long. Mack Culverhouse was a rising star in the Colonial Military, he was the youngest officer ever to assume the rank of rear admiral, and he could hardly ask for a better assignment, Pacifica was a well decorated Battlestar, and usually within the top five choices for duty assignments. His executive officer Colonel T. Morlock would be taking a transport to his home colony of Canceria upon their arrival at the Gemenon air base.
“Colonel Morlock, have you had the opportunity to see to those details regarding Colonel Adama’s send off?” asked Culverhouse discreetly. He was talking about the small gathering of senior officers that were planning to meet later that evening to give Colonel Bill Adama a send off party to celebrate his impending promotion to Commander, and subsequent transfer to his new command; the Battlestar Valkyrie.
“Affirmative sir, all victuals have been prepared and the officer’s quarters have been secured. The room has been locked down for “maintenance purposes” until further notice, Husker shouldn’t suspect a thing.” Said Morlock. His attention to detail, and planning such events were legendary in his Battle group, and Culverhouse recognized that T. Morlock’s career would be stellar.
“Where is our Caprican pretty boy now?” joked Culverhouse.
“You assigned him to inspect launch bay Alpha, he should have his hands full for the next few hours.” The communications officer, who now stood at the command chair, interrupted the men, clipboard in hand.
“Admiral, we’re receiving a distress call on a civilian channel that we normally monitor. The shipping freighter Pulsar enroute to Ragnar Anchorage reports they are being attacked by pirates, possibly from Sagittaron.”
“Damned Sagittarons,” muttered an irritated Culverhouse. “How far off are we?” The Sagittaron people endured centuries of exploitation at the hands of the other Colonies, leading to the colony becoming one of the poorest planets. Piracy and terrorism was not unheard of, and most professional military personnel came to despise them and their tactics.
“We’re at least an hour from their location.” Replied the tactical officer, now turning towards Culverhouse.
“XO, launch Gamma squadron to intercept; I want that freighter protected, and confirmation as to who the aggressors are. I want to make sure that its pirates and not Cylons we’re dealing with.”
“Aye, aye sir.” Within minutes, ten gleaming Mk. IV vipers and their assigned raptor from Gamma squadron hurtled through space to intercept the civilian freighter in distress. At the first soundings of action stations, Colonel Bill Adama raced for the CIC.
In minutes, he was at Culverhouse’s side at the plotting table. “What do we have, Admiral?”
“Nothing major Bill, we’re getting a distress call from civilian freighter claiming to be under attack by pirates from Sagittaron it would seem. Gamma squadron is on an intercept course.”
The tactical officer looked perplexed; she was doing a long-range scan of Pulsar’s last location. The Dradis positively identified the Pulsar, and surprisingly another ship with Colonial Military transponders. “Admiral, I’m picking up the pirate’s transponder…war book positively identifies the ship as the Spawn.”
“The Spawn?” repeated Culverhouse. “What the hell is an old Fightingstar doing attacking another Colonial vessel?” The Fightingstar was a small style warship that once numbered in the hundreds in the Colonial military, smaller than a Destroyer and moderately armed. They were phased out of active duty two decades before, most were scrapped, and some were sold to private owners over the objections of most senior military command staff. Those sold to non-military buyers were stripped of their offensive weaponry prior to taking possession. Apparently, this Fightingstar was rearmed and now wreaking havoc on civilian ships.
“Communications…instruct Gamma leader that I want a complete sitrep as soon as he’s on scene!” demanded Culverhouse. He deplored the thought of military vessels being sold to private ownerships whether obsolete or not. He thought they should have been scrapped entirely, but political interference trumped the concerns of the Admiralty.
Gamma squadron arrived on scene to find the Fightingstar pulled up alongside an obviously damaged freighter that was listing to one side. Gamma leader opened up an unsecured civilian frequency and broadcasted a hostile challenge to the Spawn. The response was a blistering barrage of triple-A cannon fire that destroyed two unsuspecting vipers.
“Krypter, Krypter, Krypter…Fightingstar has opened fire on us, Gamma two and six have been taken out.” Said Gamma’s squadron leader over the secured military frequency. The aging Fightingstar catches the Colonial military unprepared, and the vipers return fire.
Culverhouse is outraged, the concerns he voiced along with other senior officers many years ago now came to fruition. A well-armed warship was now in the hands of pirates, and now two of his pilots and a civilian freighter were paying a price for it.
“Helm, bring us around on course 224.6, increase speed to flank. Launch remaining squadrons immediately.” The Pacifica lurched forward as it traveled on an intercept course for their rogue Fightingstar.
The pirate in command of the Fightingstar knew he was in trouble, while he knew his ship was capable of holding off the vipers, a full Battlestar was an entirely different matter, and one very large one was bearing down on his location at flank speed. The Spawn pulled away from the freighter under full power, and put some distance between the two ships. The vipers swarmed all over the ship attempting to take out the ships offensive batteries.
Bill Adama and Culverhouse were long time friends, and Adama knew that Culverhouse had an intense hatred of pirates. They had gone too long without a serious challenge to their lawlessness. Culverhouse had long advocated using the military to hunt them down and safeguard the shipping lanes between colonies. The use of military intervention was always struck down, much to the thanks of political interference. Culverhouse had landed himself in hot water when he speculated loudly if certain politicians were financially benefiting from protecting the pirates from the wrath of the military.
The Pacifica was coming into effective firing range, and Culverhouse instructed his communications officer to signal the Spawn to ‘stand down and prepare to be boarded.’
The response was not what anyone expected; the Fightingstar opened fire on the crippled freighter with its main guns. The freighter exploded violently, 200 souls perished in a matter of seconds.
“Fraking savages.” said Culverhouse through clenched teeth. Executive officer Morlock was quickly at his side. Everyone in the CIC was shocked at the destruction of the civilian ship.
“Should I target their engines, Admiral?” inquired the reserved Morlock.
“Negative XO…it’s well past time to deal with these fraking lowlifes as they should have been treated a long time ago.” Replied Culverhouse. “Weapons…ship to ship missile.” Adama was quickly at his side, he leaned in close so that only the Admiral could hear him.
“Mack? What are you doing, aren’t you going to take them into custody?”
“That ship has sailed, Bill. I warned them what would happen if they continued to sell off excess military surplus, they did not listen! Those lowlife, bottom-feeding politicians made sure that their bribe-paying supporters were kept happy.”
“That’s quite the indictment, Mack. Think about this.”
“I’ve already considered it, Colonel. Let this be the signal to the pirates that their days are numbered.” Culverhouse turned towards the weapons officer and nodded. Two ship-to-ship missiles streaked from the bow tubes and hurtled towards the Spawn. Vipers cleared the immediate vicinity around the fleeing Fightingstar; the missiles struck their target with extreme prejudice. The ship exploded; to the mind of Admiral Mack Culverhouse, justice had been served.
Scene 2.
Battlestar Galactica – present day.
Lieutenant Tari Adama reached for the handle and turned the water off; stepping from the narrow stall, she emerged from the showers feeling refreshed. Her lean body glistened in the harsh lighting of the pilot’s latrine. While not bulky, she possessed excellent muscle tone. Prior to the encounter with the Eastern Alliance, she had worked out extensively with Major Nina Nintius, and was becoming quite proficient at hand-to-hand combat. Since her injuries, Nintius, on Doc Cottle’s orders had severely curtailed her own regiment, and Tari found herself working out with Starbuck. Tari found the two women very much alike, and respected both of them very much.
She pulled a comb through her hair and started to put on her uniform when Mark Sarnex walked in. She stood there in her uniform and bra, a lace one that Mark found very appealing to look at. She pulled on her blouse and buttoned up. “Something I can do for you, Nightstalker? Or were you just going to stand there staring?”
“Well if you don’t mind I’d like to stand here staring, you’ve got a hell of a fraking body!” quipped Sarnex with his trademark felgercarb-eating grin. “However; I’m passing along a message…your presence is required in the old man’s quarters post fraking haste.”
“Since when are you my father’s errand boy?”
“The Admiral called down to the pilot’s lounge looking for you, I answered the line and volunteered to pass you the message.”
“Why?”
“I knew you were in the showers!” he replied bluntly.
“Gods you’re worse than Lancelot and Ghostrider put together. I should frak you just out of sympathy and get you out of my hair.”
“That sounds good to me.” Ares just sighed, gathered her things and exited the latrine. She would drop off her toiletries on her bunk and head to her father’s quarters. She wondered what he could possibly want. The trip from the bottom half of Galactica where the pilot’s quarters were to the upper section where Adama’s quarters were located took roughly 25 minutes. The Marine guard at the hatch opened the door for her and Tari stepped in.
“Good morning Tari.”
“Mother? What are you doing here, where’s dad?” asked Tari.
“He’s on his way; I thought the three of us having breakfast would be nice.” Replied President Laura Roselin.
“Breakfast?” Tari was confused, something was not right here. Within minutes, Admiral Bill Adama walked in, followed by an ensign pushing a cart loaded with covered plates that contained breakfast. Tari was sure that whatever was under those covers most likely would not find itself in the mess hall for the crew.
Fraking hierarchy! She though to herself. She was not surprised though, this was the President of the Colonies, and the Admiral, and it was doubtful they would be eating algae-based foods. A few months back they had come across a small planet with extremely harsh environment, but there was animal life there, and the Admiral ordered a “hunting party.” The take was excellent, and the meats spread fairly throughout the fleet. While nobody would be eating 11 oz. steaks, they would however; have some protein to go along with noodles and other rationed foodstuffs.
“Well I see with rank comes its privileges.” Said Tari sarcastically, she sat down at the table and reached for a coffee cup. Laura shot Adama a sideways glance who merely smiled.
“Your mother and I felt that it has been a long time since we’ve had a chance to have a family chat.”
“Aren’t we missing Mr. Personality?” She said referring to her half brother Lee.
“Lee is otherwise engaged, this morning is just the three of us, Tari.” Replied Adama.
“Tari, your father filled me in on your performance during the Cylon Outpost operation, from the sounds of it you were instrumental in its success.”
“Well I am a great stick, Apollo should watch his ass, and I might edge him out for CAG one day.”
“Tari, your humility is breathtaking.” Quipped Adama. “However, you were not invited here to discuss who the superior pilot is, though I’m sure Lee would have his own opinion on that subject.”
“Oh of that I’m sure!”
“Tari, as your father I am very proud of the woman you’ve turned out to be. As your commander I am especially proud of the officer and pilot you have become, and after reading Lee’s after-action report on your performance at the outpost I have decided to promote you to full Lieutenant, and present you with a distinction cluster.” A ‘distinction cluster’ was awarded to members of the Colonial armed forces who performed above and beyond the call of duty while in combat. Tari was speechless. The promotion was well overdue as far as she was concerned, but what was that he said about Lee’s after-action report.
Laura slid her chair over next to her daughter and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Tari I am so proud of you, as is your father. The promotion and award is well deserved.” Said Laura. The President had been spending more time aboard Galactica of late Tari had noticed, she was not sure how she felt about that. Laura slid a small box across the table towards her daughter, Tari opened it and a shiny gold "Distinction Cluster" was within it.
“Lee actually had something positive to say about me?” asked Tari incredulously.
“Tari, Lee informs me that you are a brash pilot in danger of fast following in the footsteps of Starbuck, but he also states that you are an exceptional pilot with great potential. Maybe you might consider cutting him some slack; your brother isn’t a bad guy once you get to know him.” Said Adama.
“I know that dad, perhaps he would come across better if he removed that stick from his ass every once in awhile.” Replied Tari. Laura choked on a piece of her breakfast at those words. “Sorry mother, I know Lee is a good man. I just don’t know why he never cuts me any slack.”
“Maybe he would if you stopped and gave him a chance. He has his hands full with Kara Thrace, he doesn’t need another one.” Tari knew to let the conversation drop here, Adama was her father, but he was also Lee’s and that would obviously make him sensitive to any criticism of his only son. The breakfast would last another half hour, and she would have to return to her duties. Adama had asked her squadron leader to grant her an hour off from her morning duties, and now her time was almost up. Newly promoted to full lieutenant, Tari kissed both her parents goodbye and left to start her day.
Upon arriving in hanger bay Alpha, Tari was surprised to find the entire Red Aces squadron present. They gave her a round of applause, Peacemaker and Apollo approached her, and Lee removed her Jr. Lieutenant rank from her collar. Jon Horlach pinned on her new rank. Lee came to full attention and saluted her. She returned the gesture.
“Congratulations Tari…this was well deserved. Said Lee smiling.
Battlestar Pacifica - Two days before the Cylon attack on the Colonies.
Admiral Culverhouse walked into the CIC and promptly met by his executive officer Colonel Morlock. The look on his face tipped off the Admiral that the news would not be good. “Out with it XO…what have we got?”
“Tactical reports a glitch in the weapons system, he was running his weekly systems check when he found it. The component controlling the computerized targeting system for all primary guns institutes a weapons lockout when we instruct the computer to take target bearings.”
“That’s not good XO. Then again I never did like leaving a mass of wires and computer chips to take determine a firing solution so maybe this is a blessing in disguise.” Replied Culverhouse sarcastically.
“You sound like Bill Adama with his aversion to networked systems.” Said Morlock.
“Billy Adama sits at the helm of our oldest Battlestar, after the Valkyrie fiasco I’m surprised they even gave him the ‘bucket.’ Look, we need that system flaw fixed post fraking haste, what are we looking at for downtime, and will it require a shipyard?” Mack Culverhouse wanted to avoid sidelining a Battlestar from patrol and end up sitting on his ass in a shipyard with nothing to do but the paperwork.” The nearest shipyard was the Scorpion fleet shipyards, which was six days away at top speed. An FTL jump was out of the question if there were a systems glitch, he would not take the chance that the deficiency was isolated to the weapons system.
“Colonel Morlock, I want the network taken down until Tactical isolates the source of the system flaw. I do not want whatever the hell is happening to start jumping to other systems such as life support or propulsion.” Ordered the Admiral who turned and soon left to retire to his quarters, he was starting to get a headache; this day was off to a bad start. The executive officer immediately instructed Pacifica’s central computerized network taken offline.
Scene 3.
Battlestar Galactica – Present Day
Margaret Edmondson was finally cleared to resume her duties; Major Lee Adama sat at his desk and affixed his signature as CAG to the orders reinstating her to full flight status. “It’s good to have you back with us, Racetrack.” Said Lee replacing the cap on his pen.
“Good to be back, sir.” Said a smiling Edmondson. Her ordeal at the hands of the Eastern Alliance those months ago was one of the worst most of the older officers aboard Galactica had ever seen in their long careers. To her credit though, she never revealed anything. She meets with a therapist weekly, and the nightmares and aversion to physical contact as lessened significantly. She had a long road ahead of her though. She signed off on the appropriate paperwork and headed down to the hanger bay housing the Raptor squadrons. Upon entering the hanger, she immediately walked over to Major Nina Nintius who was doing a preflight on Raptor 1.
“Hello Margaret, finally cleared for duty I’ve been so advised.” Said Nintius, looking up from her clipboard.
“Yeah, I really need to get back in the saddle. How do you like your new Raptor?”
“Ahh, if it was only my own personal Raptor,” mused Nintius. “If it was, you could bet your ass I would have a much better fraking color scheme.” Laughed Nina. The Raptor’s dradis-absorbing composite fuselage was flat black. It was a true stealth craft. Nina leaned back towards her ECO, Lieutenant Hamish "Skulls" McCall. “Skully, would you mind switching off with racetrack? Take the morning off.” Said Nina, more statement than question.
“No problem Betty, welcome back Racetrack.” Replied McCall.
“Get your stuff together Margaret, we’re skids up in one hour.” Said Nintius resuming her preflight check.
Admiral Adama stood at the plotting table, coffee in hand. His luck seemed to have been holding, no major problems with the civilian ships, and morale amongst the population was in good spirits considering their lot. He made it a point to closely investigate every planet with life-sustaining atmosphere they encountered. The “hunt” on the last planet yielded an amazing amount of meat, and he chuckled to himself at the thought that there was a good chance people would not have eaten that meat had they saw the grotesque appearance of the animal that provided it. Noodles and algae-based foodstuffs were in copious amounts in the fleet, one of the civilian freighters was carrying a complete load of noodles and freeze-dried algae bars to one of the prison outposts on Aerelon when the Cylons attacked.
“Good morning Admiral!” came the voice of Captain Kara Thrace.
“Starbuck…what do you hear?”
“Nothing but the rain, sir.” Replied Starbuck to their inside joke.
“What brings you to the CIC, Kara?” asked Adama taking off his glasses.
“I had some avionics questions for Dee, I’m out of my depth on a project I’m working on and could use some advice.”
“Well she’s not on duty for another hour, I’ll tell her to get in contact with you.” Their attention was diverted to the telltale audible warning of a DRADIS contact. Lt. Antonio Digit was the tactical officer on duty, and he immediately started a trace.
“Dradis contact…long range, 172 carom 980. Very faint Admiral.”
“Set condition two throughout the fleet, signal the CAP and have them intercept and identify. Have the alert vipers standing by to launch.” Ordered Adama, who was now turning to Starbuck. “I believe you’ll be needed down in the flight pods, Captain.” Starbuck briskly walked out of CIC and headed to the flight pod where Blue squadron was assigned.
The Combat Air Patrol assigned that morning was Roadkill and Wizard, after receiving their orders the both took an intercept course for the Dradis contact that was yet on their own less-powerful Dradis. Lieutenants Booster Antilles and Dave Wright were assigned to Red Aces squadron and were good friends. They drew this morning’s CAP and now they were pushing their aging Mk. II Vipers to the unknown contact on full thrusters.
Raptor 1 was now materializing of their port side; Betty had jumped her Raptor in order to catch up with them.
“Wizard – Betty, I’m picking up your contact, unable to identify, I’m picking up heavy distortion and jamming that appears to cycle from frequency to frequency, I can’t punch through it.”
“Not the actions of someone with friendly intentions.” Said Roadkill. The hair on the back of his neck started to bristle, not a good sign. Dave Wright always paid heed to the bristling; it was like an early warning system. “I’m not getting a good vibe here, people.”
Racetrack was doing her best to sort through the electronic clutter that was being tossed their way; she was an excellent ECO whose nearest equal was Karl “Helo” Agathon. “Betty I’m making some headway, the contact is big, possibly a Basestar.”
The screen lit up, smaller contacts emerged from the main contact. “Multiple contacts heading our way, I guess there is no doubt no that they’re Cylons.”
“Galactica – Raptor 1…multiple contacts from the original contact is heading our way at high speed, launch the alert fighters!”
Admiral Adama nodded towards the Tactical officer and Lt. Digit keyed his lip microphone. “Action stations…action stations set condition 1 throughout the fleet, inbound unidentified space craft.” The alert vipers immediately launched, and the remaining three viper squadrons were being loaded into the tubes awaiting their pilots.
“Lieutenant Digit, order the fleet to jump to emergency coordinates.” Said Adama now at his side. One by one, Galactica’s viper compliment hurtled into space to intercept the incoming spacecraft bearing down on them. The CAP was two minutes from contact, and Raptor 1 prepared to deploy its new weapons system.